


Flicker

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Blackmail, Cop Jesse McCree, M/M, Manipulation, Yakuza Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 10:13:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8620534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple arrest and briefing mission about a potential yakuza problem. What Jesse didn’t expect was to meet face to face with the one man he thought he wouldn’t see ever again.





	

Jesse had always been told to expect the unexpected. Strike first before the enemy even thinks of it and bring a second weapon just in case Murphy’s law tries to screw you over. He followed the advice because it kept him alive, and that was his priority.

  
  


Peacekeeper was loaded, he had enough ammo to get through several shootouts, and a whole team at his back. What could go wrong?

 

Everything, apparently.

  
  


Currently, he found himself pressing his back against the far right corner of a storage room, far enough away from the door so that his breathing wasn't recognizable and close enough to still be able to hear the distant Japanese being shouted to and fro the murky halls.

  
  


The prison-like room reeked with neglect and distaste, chock full of every cleaning supply imaginable. There was a metallic smell of blood either coming from the slice on his thigh, or above where an unsteady vent let a semblance of light drip through. If he squinted he might see the midnight crimson colour it was soaked in, but his mind was far too occupied on his impending doom, wrapped tight with a bow as though it was an honourable way to go.

  
  


It wasn't a favourable situation by any means. Jesse couldn't think of any fellow cop that would be thrilled to be hunted down by yakuza in what could pass as an insane asylum with no ammo present and what he believed was a dislocated arm. The latter had an easy, but loud solution, and giving away his position was not an option. It would be the last thing he ever did.

  
  


A gunshot rang through the air, the ear splitting noise of glass shattering following suite. Unknowingly, Jesse flinched away, letting his back remain glued to the condensation on the walls of the hidden enclosure. It didn't sound like they had hit anyone in particular, but Rios was still unaccounted for, and he had no way of knowing if his comrade managed to make it out of the building in time. 

  
  


Biting his lip, he let his usable left hand skim down his dress shirt until it latched onto his belt where Peacekeeper sat secure, the presence of it being his last glimpse of salvation. If anyone did try to come in, he could always try beating them in the head until they dropped dead; maybe even raid them for a weapon so that he wasn't forced to be stealthy, something that was near impossible in this state.

  
  


All of a sudden, he heard footsteps. Loud footstep. His head smacked against the wall in suspense and he fumbled to unlatch Peacekeeper from the metal clasp decorating his belt. His whole body tensed up in the promise of a fight, and that nervous coil flipped and turned in his stomach, burning with fervent anticipation. Never in his life did he feel so helpless, and it terrified him.

  
  


The noises crept forward more, distorted through the barricade of the door. Every movement stilled, and Jesse swore his vision became tinted with a sickening pink. The other wall adjacent to the door looked like a better place to be in case someone tried to invade, but his gut demanded he stay in place and not make a sound. His eyes flickered back and forth, assessing a possible vantage point as his fingers trembled around Peacekeeper's trigger. On the other side of the door, a warning snap was spat from the mouth of an impatient man blinded by the thrill of the hunt.

  
  


Jesse made up his mind, tensely letting a foot land ahead of him, the heel hitting the ground with absolute precision. A cough built up in his throat and he held back the hoarse noise with all his might, lower stomach almost in pain by how much it was clenching in on itself. Another step, and now he was off balance, wobbling in place as his left hand fumbled for purchase on the wall. It was so quiet that his laboured breathing was practically a shout, and the chime of his handcuffs was like a siren's song to whoever was hunting him down. 

  
  


If possible, the air cooled further in temperature, the drops of blood descending from the vent above increasing in speed. Was someone above him, planning to swoop in there? It wasn’t beyond the realm of plausibility.

  
  


The room was narrow enough for him to tiptoe forward with the grace of someone that wasn't suffering from unresponsive limbs. Because of the added difficulty he almost let out a gasp of relief when his toe hit the stone wall. With bated breath he inched closer to the door, letting the spine shield him as pinpricks of light flooding in from the pinkie sized holes.

  
  


His eyes witnessed a shape fly by, silhouetted by the dirty yellow light speckled with dust particles. It was the kind of colour so vile and ugly that really made the ambience all the more creepy. As if to set it in stone, one more black figure passed, much slower and with more calculation. Jesse’s eye followed the movement, consuming light.

  
  


The seconds trickled into minutes, time slowing down. Each breath sucked in only cutting his lungs deeper. The worming tension was beginning to crumble and break, granting the promise of escape. The hope, the light at the end of the tunnel was so bright that it was almost overwhelming. In the daze of positivity Jesse barely heard staggering footsteps arriving at the door, slow and just managing to graze the floor.

  
  


With the speed of a cracked whip, the door bulged with the force of a kick and practically gave the cop inside a heart attack. Jesse only had a minute to press himself to the wall before the brittle wood gave way and submitted to the violence. The block of wood hit both him and the wall in rapid succession, bouncing back from the impact. He willed his lips to stop trembling and sacrificed the choice of covering his mouth in favour of wielding his gun instead, the barrel primed yet grimy. His breath stuttered, shoulder still stinging from the blow as he waited on edge for what was to come.

  
  


On the other side he could hear a man grunt and the noise of something being unsheathed. The inconsistent breaths screeched to a halt as he flattened himself back, trying to look as small as possible. Something on the ground was being kicked, and he prayed it was a stray pebble or broom and not something he had unknowingly dropped.

  
  


A tattooed hand grabbed the edge of the door and wrenched it away from Jesse with brutal force, revealing a shadow more intimidating than any criminal he had locked away before. This wasn't any old criminal fresh of the streets, this was a conditioned killer prime in his craft. There wouldn't be a body left to bury, no name held to his face if he didn't get a move on. The brown eyes of his opponent locked with his own, spiteful and bitter, and only then did he snap back into awareness and rush forward.

  
  


He uppercut upwards with the spur on the back of his gun, cutting a partial line under the man’s throat and throwing his head back with the momentum. His leg followed through with a dirty kick to the man's lower abdomen that did more than either of them would care to admit. A startled cry, whether it be from the man himself or his partner made itself known, and in seconds Jesse found himself in the crossfire of two gunmen.

  
  


His mission was clear as daylight, laid out by the chief when they first tried to make their arrests. At the moment details and faces were blurred, but the objective was still a blaring noise, urging him to escape now that he knew who and what resided in the crypts. In his desperation he couldn't take prisoners, the only option was to beat them unconscious and try to navigate the winding halls of the enormous hideaway. He swallowed his doubts, and jabbed his working elbow into the man just entering the room. Outnumbered two to one made for a stressful fight, but he had years of experience under his belt.

  
  


That experience couldn't save him from the unsuspecting stab to his calves by a man he was sure he had downed. He felt a growl rip out from his lungs, and swirled around to kick the victim's nose in with the steel of his boot. A pair of hands tried to restrain him, but it didn't silence the satisfying crack from below, soon followed by a bout of screaming.

  
  


The hands grasping at the leather of Jesse’s vest were rough and calloused, but were determined to hold him still. The cop twisted and bucked, one leg raised and ready to fire back and land right in the heart of his knee.

  
  


He never got to. A gunshot interrupted any turmoil between them and his dislocated shoulder flourished with fresh pain. He screamed in new agony, his movements growing evermore jerky and his breath gasped out through gritted teeth. If another yakuza member had come to their aid he wouldn't have known, his vision too spotty to determine who was grabbing his arms and who had made a move to silence him.

  
  


Even with blood flowing from his shoulder he fought with every last bit of vigour he still had in him. Spitting with hatred, he wrestled the hands digging into his dirty skin and used his balance to tip them into the wall and slam into them. The intended target slipped from his grasp, but his boot did make contact with someone behind him when he thrashed his leg.

  
  


It was the last kick he got for awhile. The heat of a gun made its presence known against his skull, and the many hands grabbed and directed him forward. His exhausted legs could barely keep up, stumbling and falling against the pushes. He vaguely felt a hand remove Peacekeeper, and winced when the last weapon he had on hand was stripped of his being.

  
  


"Get 'yer hands off 'o me an' fight like a real man!" He taunted, hoping one of them would drop the silent act and raise their fists. Anything to make them look their composure would suffice. But, they didn't act on his words, and continued to drag him along like cattle. His adrenaline only served to make him weaker, and he lost the will to fight with every new step his bloodied feet took.

  
  


Tuckered out and bloody, Jesse could only gasp and watch as the beaten, spider-web inhabited walls slowly got cleaner. The pale yellow-green colour palette warped into a distant orange as they descended deeper into the "nest" as Romero had called it. On any other mission he would be happy to see the inner workings of the foreign clan, but held captive and disarmed in what was supposed to be a simple briefing mission was all too predicting of his fate. Desperately, he tried to shake free a few more times, but only got prodded with the barrel of the clean silver pistol. A warning.

  
  


So he played nice and walked, to the best of his ability, towards the direction they were set on travelling to. His vision was too blurry to memorize the way back, so he just prayed that God would show fortune when (and not if, no, he couldn't think like that) he got back.

  
  


The game of push and pull ended at a dark clearing that looked like a meeting room devoid of furniture. They had traversed up and down several flights of stairs to get there, and it was clear that the room was tucked away at the back for safety reasons. Here there were a few more individuals, but their faces blurred into the shadows. Only one familiar uniform stood out, and that was because it belonged to a bloody and bruised cop likely from his own group after they had gotten separated. It left no reassurance in his soul to see a proud man stripped of any honour, but he didn't have long to stomach the feelings before he was pushed down to his knees, a knuckle full of his hair forcing him to keep his head bowed to the ground.

  
  


Someone was muttering something over the white noise in his ears, and he strained to listen. During this, he followed the shoes of the man he believed to have swiped Peacekeeper from him, intent on pursuing them later. Down on the dirt though he couldn't do more than glare, mind calculating possibilities at the speed of a racehorse.

  
  


Something flashed in his vision, something high above. He tried to look and was yanked back down, saliva coughed up in the process. His shoulder shrieked in unbridled pain, begging for some kind of lull in the physical touches of the merciless men present. A candy red colour was beginning to soak into his vest and the buttoned shirt under it, demanding attention.

  
  


A set of fingers lightly brushed the bottom of his chin, tilting his head up. The other set of hands in his hair relented and let the fingers control Jesse's head. His eyes squinted as they came into direct light, body trying to back up. Through his eyelashes he saw a face peering down at him, a disturbed sense of familiarity lingering there.

  
  


The brown eyes finally came through, daunting and sharp. Now that he looked twice, he could see that same shade that he'd come into contact with earlier. The pieces fell into place, and he reviled back.

  
  


"Hanzo," He gasped, seeing the edges of a smile form on the ends of Hanzo's lips. He looked rather pleased with the turn of the events.

  
  


"Correct," Hanzo hummed, "Though I'd expect you wouldn't forget anytime soon." His hand released Jesse's chin, but the officer didn't make any move to lower it.

  
  


The face brought back a wave of nausea, and a collection of bitter memories. The only reason they had come to his base was to get information on Shimada family, but it seemed that once again the yakuza leader had a trick up his sleeve. Without knowing it he and his teammates had walked in a lion's den, and it wasn’t the first time it had happened.

  
  


Weeks ago it was something to brag about. It wasn't every day that you constructed a raid on a known drug trafficking point and came across a foreign clan notorious for their hold on Japanese politics. Some hadn't believed the leader was who he said he was, but it was there in bold letters under a blurry portrait. 

  
  


SHIMADA HANZO.

  
  


And sadly the perks of having a yakuza leader under lock and key (after what was an admittedly bloody crime scene) were far and few. The whole station put a target on themselves, and it wasn't long before shifty activity overtook their little town in New Mexico. Everyone was forced to walk on eggshells until the higher ups found a solution to their little skirmish, and that took longer than expected.

  
  


Hanzo wasn't the best company either. He wasn't rude (mostly) or brutal like most of the gang leaders and criminals they locked up, but he was difficult. It was rare for him to share words with interrogators, and rarer for him to actually eat his meals. The chief had several days where he worried the leader would drop dead because of exhaustion and denial of basic necessities like water.

  
  


Nothing proved successful, and it got stressful for everyone on the crew. What was the point of taking such a valuable asset if he wouldn't talk?

  
  


And then Jesse was asked to brave the waters, right smack in the middle of a patrol. At this point the station was just throwing ideas at the wall and seeing what would stick, and Hanzo knew it. The bastard was smiling with mocking intent when Jesse arrived, still heavy with the summer heat he had plowed through to get to the massive station. The guard at the cell door looked ready to smack the smirk right off of the captive's face, and probably would have if Jesse didn't arrive when he did.

  
  


Hanzo was dirty and tired during their first conversation, and it seemed violence wasn’t convincing his mind, so Jesse took a different approach. It was partly because of the former reason, but also because the thought of bringing his hand down on someone that couldn’t fight back made his throat too tight to breathe. 

  
  


So instead he brought cigarettes and supplies, greeting the leader as though he were an old friend. Surprisingly enough, Hanzo played along too, his rough voice purring out what was lightly accented but fluent English as he tried to keep up with Jesse. They spoke about things that were so out of the blue and troublesome that many wouldn’t believe it if they walked in on their conversations, but it was worth it when Hanzo started talking. The tone of the room changed from bitterness and contempt to a much lighter, yet still tense ambience. No matter, it was progress, and Jesse watched as the yakuza lord’s hatred of him dulled until he no longer had to worry about turning his back to him. Sure, some of the conversations were awkward, but if it made Hanzo easier to crack than the many off topic prompts were easier to swallow.

  
  


Not once did Jesse ask what Hanzo was doing in America, or if there were more yakuza clans with a foothold there. He didn't even touch the hidden question of what Hanzo was intending to do once he got full control over the drug trade in the state. 

  
  


Or at least, that was what Hanzo believed.

  
  


If Jesse ever did need to ask, he would dance around the truth, let the lord accidentally tell too much. A question regarding the scenery of the desert wastelands south of the police station would be answered with a comparison to Japan’s much greener territory, and a clear indication that Hanzo had been planning this trip for months.

  
  


It wasn’t the man’s fault by any means, as Jesse had learned the old interrogation technique from a very young age. No matter how educated or iron-willed a person was, it was near impossible to beat loneliness. For someone like Hanzo that was so used to always having men by his side and a wave of people at his beck and call, it must have been torture sitting alone in his cell, counting down the minutes until Jesse appeared at the bars with his trademark smile.

  
  


It all contributed to him letting valid chunks of information slip past his wall of defences and into Jesse's waiting hands. For that alone, Jesse found pride in himself, as he didn't have to make an enemy with someone that could snap his neck the millisecond his hands escaped from their handcuffs. It didn’t matter how much he sweet talked Hanzo, there was no way he would put himself in the line of fire to prove a point. Judging by the outcome of events, it seemed his technique was the right approach to take.

  
  


Unfortunately, the captivity was not meant to last. Jesse wasn’t on duty when it happened, but he drove to work the next morning with the knowledge that something had happened. “Something” managed to be a ruined office, with furniture scattered everywhere and not a soul in sight. It also included the wonderful gift of an escaped yakuza leader and several other cells busted up beyond belief; a raid on a deadly scale. The material damage wasn’t anything severe, but it was a low blow for the officers there, and was partly because the higher ups in the force didn't do much about it. Jesse’s force was well respected and well trained, but Hanzo and the yakuza weren’t exactly in their league. Investigation or not, he shouldn’t have been kept in their jail, regardless of how secure it was, for the time he did.

  
  


What ending up haunting him days after the escape was the last look Hanzo shot him as he left the interrogation room exactly at three in the afternoon when he always did. It wasn't the same fondness Hanzo was showing now, but mostly amusement, coupled with venom. The cigarette in the yakuza's hand was smothered out, the last instances of smoke fading away into obscurity when he exhaled.

  
  


"Until we meet again, fool," There was no bite, but the dominant look in his eyes was eerie nonetheless. It was the look of a man that knew too much; one that played the police force like a fiddle. 

  
  


He didn’t think it was something to take seriously, but the words echoed in his head for days and nights after. Like an animal at an exhibit he felt eyes on him at all times, and knew that sooner than later his corpse would be found at the front steps to the station. The police did try to read the threat as best they could and put out more raids to check for local activity (believing that Hanzo was alluding to another attack or something of the sort coming up), but had always come up short.

  
  


The only time they had been correct was at the abandoned office building an hour north of their town. Witnesses had recorded the activity of people moving in and out of there, and the descriptions were mostly accurate. With no support from above and limited men to put out, they were forced to hope and pray they could make use with a few sharp shooters and collection of gunmen.

  
  


And now it was too late to back out; he was surrounded on all sides by the men that were unquestionably loyal to their leader, and Hanzo knew it. Jesse could practically taste death on his tongue, and it provoked a new wave of shame to overtake him.

  
  


It felt nasty to have so much authority and not be able to use any of it. Some would call it taking a walk in Hanzo's footsteps, but it was more a dosage of reality. No one should have expected to walk into this hornet's nest and come out okay, even if they hadn't expected Hanzo to still be a present threat in America.

  
  


A touch to his cheek snapped him out of his thoughts, and he once more focused on Hanzo's look of triumph. He tutted twice, then lightly applied pressure so that Jesse would turn his head and look to the side.

  
  


It was the mangled corpse of Rios, freshly doused in blood with a single gunshot wound to the head. Jesse let out a shiver, already seeing himself in the same pose within a few minute’s time. It wasn’t the nicest way to go, but considering some of the threats he had heard from men and women he had detained, it was a much better option than torture. Vaguely, he wondered if Rios had been spared the torment and had just been killed on the spot. If that was the case, then Jesse might find some dignity in his death.

  
  


“A stubborn one, he was. Wouldn’t even beg for his own life. No matter, I would have had him eliminated regardless. He stuck his nose in places where it didn’t belong.“ Jesse stared, scared to even blink in fear that Hanzo would find some kind of offence in it. He was already walking on thin ice. 

  
  


“In some ways you were the same, but don’t worry, I won’t have you executed.” He put a finger to his lips, almost looking as if he was making a hush motion. "Not yet anyways,” His tone lowered, sinking to a near impossible whisper.

  
  


"'Yer being pretty darn rude to a man who was nothin' but generous to 'ya,” Jesse mumbled, though it was audible enough to reach Hanzo's ears. Almost immediately cop shrank back as if he were a deer caught in the headlights, regretting his decision to speak.

  
  


“You dare call me rude McCree? I'm not having you killed on the spot for trespassing on our territory and questioning my authority. For that alone you should be grateful. Others would not have been granted the pleasure.” His snide tone only fanned the fire burning in Jesse.

  
  


"Don't suppose 'ye could let me run off campus if I’m that much trouble?” He suggested, restraining his anger with the last supplement of self control that remained.

  
  


"Let you go? Don't be ridiculous. You got this far, and I know you're not an idiot. Letting you go would be both a waste of resources and men. Do you take me for a fool?"

  
  


Jesse laughed a dry chuckle. "Suppose not. Can't hurt ‘ta try." Hanzo didn't crack a smile this time but still seemed very interested. 

  
  


Attempting to lighten up the mood, Jesse smiled, “Ya certainly look better than before." Awkward perhaps, but it was true. There was the slim chance that Hanzo might be reminded of his fair treatment and decide not to have him impaled (if he was still considering it somewhere in the recesses of his mind).

  
  


"Be quiet!" A guard hissed from behind him, voice laced with disapproval. The noise was so close to Jesse’s ear that he jumped up as much as he could, eyes wide. In the process, he strained a muscle in his shoulder, furthering the abuse of his bloody wound.

  
  


"Oh let him humour me, it's not every day you meet someone like McCree." Hanzo preened, a hand taking through his shoulder length hair. It was likely meant as a taunt of sorts, but Jesse tried not to read it as such. “You may go Haku. Please look for any remaining survivors and bring them to me.” The shaggy haired cop couldn’t see behind him but guessed the other had already bowed and escaped the scene (lucky him).

  
  


Jesse wasn’t lying when he said Hanzo was looking a lot better. For one, he wasn't covered head to toe with dirt, nor bruises and scabs from interrogations. If Jesse hadn't physically seen the evidence of the crimes he would have never been able to guess this was the same Hanzo. He had his scars, sure, but none of the messy attire that came with it. That intricately woven tattoo of his was also gone, covered by the long sleeves of his suit. The man looked like a predator in his element, and though he could pass for some as just another man in formal attire there was no doubting that he was an eye catcher.

  
  


Mysterious, elusive, and potently dangerous. They were all the qualities of a good yakuza leader. In another timeline when he wasn’t such a dangerous man Jesse might have greeted him with a soft smile, maybe even asked him out to dinner if he was free. It was clear though that this was the kind of man you never wanted to be near. Either he would be responsible for your death, or some envious rival clan would be after your throat. There was no winning, and it was one thing Jesse didn't miss about the Deadlock gang. It was refreshing to not have to spend his life looking over his shoulder at every street corner.

  
  


"My, how the tables have turned. My men did say you put up quite a fight for the condition you are in. You tell me, should I be incredulous or just dismissive?” It was a test, if Jesse ever saw one.

  
  


"Can't say I expected to end up by 'yer feet one day, but if I were you ah’d just be impressed I got this far. It ain't easy bashing out someone's brains with a gun."

  
  


"Nonsense, just apply more force than necessary and they'll bleed out eventually." Jesse flinched at the violent swing of mood from Hanzo. "Just as you are now. I would tend to that if I were you." The yakuza leader gestured towards the bullet hole near the top of Jesse’s shoulder, still evident and gruesome as it was when he got it.

  
  


"I would darlin', but my hands 'r tied right now." He wiggled his torso to prove his point, the soles of his boots trying to find stability against the disarrayed floor. "My apologies Mr. Shimada, but 'ah must bleed out a bit on ‘yer floor.”

  
  


Hanzo's eyes lit up. "I would expect nothing else but common courtesy from the officer. Are you sure I can't get you something? You must be thirsty." He bent over at a table just ahead of them and lifted a translucent glass filled half way with water. Jesse licked his lips, feeling the sandy grit disappear and only serve to make him thirstier. 

  
  


"Mighty kind 'o you, but, as 'ah must decline." His heart screamed in protest, but his head was too tense to care. “So let me guess, this whole operation, you bein’ in New Mexico; ‘yer doing this for some kind of gain. You want ta’ take out the native gangs here and implement your kind of control. A world export for you to build a playground on.” It was conversational whiplash, but Hanzo did seem to pick up on it, fixing his captive with raised eyebrows.

  
  


“Incorrect. The worst we’d do is corporate frauds, so don’t stumble out of here thinking you’re going to be stopping a world invasion. We don’t have the numbers or care for such a process.”

  
  


“Always about the money, eh boss?”

  
  


“That isn’t to say we wouldn’t threaten the competition if it tried to bite back. All we hope for is to get some kind of friendship with your local businesses, and some information on the gangs here would surely go a long way. Alliances and such are valuable.” He looked over his shoulder at the bound, gasping man and let the corners of his mouth perk up. “That’s where you come in.”

  
  


“I ain’t talking. ‘Ah’m a cop, and even then my knowledge is very limited.”

  
  


“You and I both promised to be honest with one another back when our positions were switched, and I’d expect it to carry over to this surprise encounter. I know more then I let onto, and you shouldn’t underestimate me.” Hanzo walked out of sight, the sound of his footsteps still audible even after being swallowed by the shadows. Jesse tested the tightly wrapped bonds again and cursed under his breath as they gave no room to breathe. He could already feel the lack of circulation becoming a problem in the form of the bruising and numbness that occurred.

  
  


After a particularly harsh lunge forward that send Jesse off balance and craning to the side, Hanzo returned, in his hands a set of files that looked eerily familiar. The paper was crisp white and distinguishable from the lists and chats deeper inside, but the written format and the font were too big, too representative. It was the sort of thing Jesse would dig up after interrogating a criminal and looking for files.

  
  


Files, files. Criminal files, something rang a bell. Now, looking up at the sight of the fearsome yakuza lord holding something so out of reach for his status was jarring at best and terrifying at worst. There was a bit of irony to be found in a wanted criminal looking through the files that presumably belonged to a cop that abided by the law, but Jesse didn’t dare let his tongue run loose. There was no telling what kind of person Hanzo was when he wasn’t restrained by the might of metal handcuffs.

  
  


“I don’t suppose these aren’t familiar to you, McCree.”

  
  


“Can’t be sure, it’s mighty dark in here Mr. Shimada, and reading ain’t my strong suit these days. You’ll have to come a bit closer.” The hand holding the files was lowered until Jesse could properly see the intense look the deep brown eyes were giving him. Against the pale yellow lighting they almost appeared to glow, a sunset coming to mind. 

  
  


Hanzo strutted closer, head held high like a regal peacock flaunting its feathers. His hand waved the files back and forth as he unceasingly looked down at the cop with a mixture of disdain and intrigue. Jesse snorted and shifted his feet, which were already numb yet burning with prickling fire.

  
  


“Now, let’s recall,” The criminal lord spoke, “You. The things you told me back when we were unfortunately watched by the eyes of authority.”

  
  


“What about ‘em,” Jesse mumbled, failing to read the tiny scripture of words plastered onto the white sheets flopping back and forth from where they stuck out from the folder.

  
  


“I found it rather peculiar that you would talk about certain aspects. If I didn’t know any better I would assume you were trying to empathize with me, but I refused to believe someone so closely tied to the law would ever be able to understand what me, a yakuza lord, felt.” Jesse’s mouth felt dry, and the seeds of doubt and panic began to grow and prosper with every new word Hanzo spoke.

  
  


“As a former prisoner, I am grateful you were able to see it in yourself to not beat me like a mad dog. That’s more than can be said for the others of your little group, who didn’t seem to abide by, oh what was it, the saying to not beat the already beaten?”

  
  


“Don’t kick ‘ah man who’s already down,” Jesse corrected.

  
  


“Yes, that,” Said Hanzo irritatingly, “But as a business owner groomed to look for any signs of weakness I did pick up on your admitted tussle with the law. There was something different about you, and the moment I got word of you sporting a rival gang’s tattoo on your hip, I was proven correct. I didn’t take for a gang member initially, and don’t deny your involvement, I have proof of it here.”

  
  


“I won’t, but ah’ll say that ruckus was a long time ago. I was a kid, plenty foolish and too stupid ‘ta think for myself. I got with the wrong people and did things I ain’t proud of now. That’s all in the past.”

  
  


“Isn’t it impossible to find work if you have a criminal past, let alone were an outlaw with a name so well known?” Hanzo pushed, lips drawing back slightly. “Unlike here in America being a yakuza isn’t necessarily outlawed, but my men cannot find work if they see it as fit to leave the organization for their own personal gain. I would expect it would be the same circumstances for you, if not worse.”

  
  


“Ah’m surprised myself, but I don’t take it for granted sir. They probably just saw it as fit to give me a second chance.” The yakuza lord above him knelt down to his level, then brought his hand down across his cheek, hard. The stinging gesture knocked Jesse’s head back, and a growl escaped from behind clenched teeth. Compared to a gunshot, it was nothing, but it was the unexpected aspect of it that left him reeling.

  
  


The yakuza hadn’t moved from his spot, but did roll his neck when Jesse shook his head to free his eyesight from behind chocolate bangs. “I told you not to lie. I already know what it is you’ve achieved.”

  
  


Jesse spat out a bloodied mix of saliva and glared daggers at his foe. “If ‘ya know, then why pester me with this garbage?”

  
  


“There’s a sick sense of pleasure to be earned from hearing you admit it. I would be one of the first to hear it from you, wouldn’t I?” The teasing bastard, his tone was soft and sounded like something a kid would use when he provoked his little brother.

  
  


The cop didn’t want to tell Hanzo anything, and just thinking about it dug up unwanted feelings and memories he’d rather forget. It was a part of his life so guarded and kept away for this very reason, and if he was right about his suspicions then letting Hanzo hear it was the last thing he wanted to do.

  
  


Silence coated the two, making each and every background noise loud and irritating. The yakuza boss gave Jesse a minute to reply, which stretched into two. When it was clear he was getting no response, he let out a threatening puff of air and walked away, bringing the folder up to his eyes so that he could read it properly.

  
  


“Jesse McCree, wanted fugitive in New Mexico on several accounts of first and second degree murder. It also says here you’re wanted for arson, theft, conspiracy to commit murder, and recreational drug use. I must say, I’m impressed. That’s quite a list to hold to a name as honourable as yours.”

  
  


“I was a kid, not even eighteen yet. Cut me some slack, it all happened a long time ago. If I or any of my gang accidentally offended you or tried to commit extortion then on their behalf I apologize, but can’t say I have much knowledge on the subject. This is all behind me.”

  
  


“You should have been imprisoned in juvenile detention for life, it even says here they tried you as an adult. Maximum security prison with no chance of parole for thirty five years, impressive.” The mocking tone that Hanzo was using on him was a sour addition to the already bad news. Past achievements and ranks came back to Jesse, buzzing around and inside his head like mosquitoes. 

  
  


Yet it seemed that meant nothing to the current criminal in front of him. He was gawking at the file like a wolf that had just had a rabbit thrown into its enclosure, and Jesse didn’t like it one bit. Whenever one gang member went out of their way to catch another there was always some kind of reason behind it, like a past alliance gone wrong or inner conflict that was never resolved. The captive usually took the brute force behind it, and it didn’t seem like Hanzo was any different. Thinking back, the Deadlock gang had never had any known contact with the Shimada clan, so it made no sense for Hanzo to find some kind of valuable in the information presented.

  
  


Despite the many questions he wanted to ask, he maintained his vow of silence, waiting patiently until Hanzo had put the file down on the table. Those regal eyes were looking at his own now, penetrating through any thoughts Jesse was keeping nestled in his head.

  
  


“I find it rather curious they never went through with any of these convictions,” He stated.

  
  


Jesse flinched back, sorting through his available options. Either way, he lost, and Hanzo already knew the truth. His resolve started to crumble, and he visually felt his body release the stress it had been holding in. If he was going to die here today then there was little point in going so early. 

  
  


“They didn’t. My record was wiped clear before ‘ah entered the force,” Jesse mumbled.

  
  


“Wiped clear; that would explain why you disappeared off of the map for a while there. Some of your personal details looked to have been tweaked too, probably to not raise any suspicions.” The yakuza boss held his own chin with two fingers. “But I didn’t take you for someone that would be deep into the computer system.”

  
  


“I’m not. It was the man who bailed me out. He said something alon’ the lines of, ‘I couldn’t just allow someone with a skill like yours to rot away in a cell, so I’ll cut you a deal kid,’ and here ‘ah am.” Jesse deliberately left the name of Reyes out, not wanting to give Hanzo any ideas or potential targets. “Before I knew it, I was expected to help out the cops with whatever trouble was brewing in town. I was pretty good at it, so I was offered a job when I was old enough and had the right credentials ‘course.”

  
  


Hanzo hummed flatly, “His work was impeccable, I had to look through a lot of resources to find anything under your name.” At this, Jesse sputtered, the truth sinking its claws into his throat. “It’s a good thing my men kept an eye on you then. Can’t have someone that disappears so easily just running off in the middle of an investigation.

  
  


“You- You were-“ A quarter way into the sentence and he felt a bit faint. That constant feeling of being watched over the past month or two was no exaggeration or paranoia on his behalf, but the clever and forever watchful eyes of the few yakuza that were stalking him. Every individual he had helped, the man he had bought coffee for the other day when he forgot his wallet, all felt like the eyes of the enemy.

  
  


“Oh don’t look so surprised, you should have known tangling with us would get you some kind of retribution. If it helps you cope, we weren’t just keeping tabs on you alone.”

  
  


Jesse’s throat felt like sandpaper, but he still tried to work up the ability to speak. “We knew they were behind the emails and threats when you were imprisoned, but-“

  
  


“-But while you were building a report on us we needed to make sure you weren’t getting your hands on information that didn’t belong to you,” Hanzo finished, voice rough and silencing anything else Jesse had to say. The man tapped his fingers against the wood of the desk, choosing not to reveal more, though it was enough to send Jesse into a frenzy. That couldn’t be the only reason why they were being followed, the yakuza wouldn’t put so much effort into an operation for so little gain. The authorities already knew about their fortunate catch, so what difference would it make?

  
  


“McCree.” Jesse looked up, teeth biting the inside of his cheek. On any normal day he would have reached for a cigar if they were handy, but something told him he wouldn’t be smoking for a while.

  
  


The light pouring in vertical lines from above painted them both menacingly, and Jesse prepared for the bitter pill he would have to swallow. Eyes blinking away the creeping exhaustion, he found himself peering up under long eyelashes to watch the shadow of the man slink in and out of sight. All the while his shoulder throbbed, still sore and bleeding.

  
  


“We need valuable assets to keep our operation moving forward. Your past experiences with the gangs that have festered here will prove extremely important, so I’m willing to make a deal with you.” Jesse’s hands grabbed against the material restraining him, holding on for dear life. His dark skin flushed with concentration as his mind overworked to predict what would come next, what he would say.

  
  


Damn if Shimada Hanzo stole his breath away, albeit in the worst way possible. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, chest faltering in on itself as each agonizing second slinked by. If he didn’t get out of this situation soon he might just pass out.

  
  


“Depends what kind’a deal you’re thinking of, partner.” He settled for the safest option, cheek anticipating another blow the minute Hanzo came too close to his left with one hand raised. The boss didn’t strike him though, and settled to lean down close again. A blade of black hair fell out from behind his shoulders and tickled Jesse’s forehead lightly. The yakuza was close enough now for the cop to catch a faint whiff of blood that was not his, mixed in with a tangy scent that burned Jesse’s nose when he breathed it in.

  
  


Hanzo put his raised hand down on Jesse’s bleeding shoulder. “My proposal is this; you give me the information of your former gangs and any major drug trafficking sites in the state. You stay and report to me when I ask of you and become an honorary member of sorts. And, if I ask for your services, whether it be for your location or your arms, you comply.” Jesse stiffened, and Hanzo’s pupils dilated as the light above them stopped flickering, cloaking them in an ugly hue. “If you do what I ask, then I don’t reveal the information in my hand to the police force, and, your little group that’s scurrying in here like mice, is allowed to walk out alive. Do we have a deal, McCree?” One of the cop’s hands was shaking slightly, his skin riddled with goosebumps. Had it been only him at stake then he might have found the bravery to deny the offer and walk into the hands of the justice system. However, with some many lives held to his name he would be sentencing so many to death, on top of being selfish.

  
  


He couldn’t walk away with injured legs. He couldn’t crawl away with bound hands. Hanzo was a bit too bright to fall for any verbal tricks or exchanges, and he had no reason to accept any offer the cop made anyways. The only way to solve the issue was to confront it head on, even Jesse really, really didn’t want to.

  
  


Not that he had a choice. “Ye- Yes,” He finally spat out, the acceptance making him feel filthy, “If ‘ya call, I’ll answer.” He tried not to dwell on the long term consequences that would stem from an answer that took seconds to produce, as he knew it would only send his mind into more disarray. At least Hanzo looked pleased, the formerly stoic face lit with a small, genuine grin. There was no doubt that malice was building behind it, but neither of them addressed it.  

  
  


“Excellent. Thank you for being reasonable McCree. I’ll see to it that this little partnership works out in your favour too.”

  
  


“Nothing ya say or do will make it work in my favour, snake,” Jesse miserably commented.

  
  


“Shut up with the tone, you could have been killed,” Hanzo snapped. “It would even be easier.”

  
  


“Then why not do it,” Jesse demanded, letting some of his anger pour out in his dulcet tone, “If ah’m someone that knows you and ‘yer little “family” better than you’d like then why not just dispose of me here. I wouldn’t be the first.” Hanzo’s mouth split open in a line of teeth.

  
  


“You’ve got a personality McCree, it reminds me of my... brother in some ways. I thought you were going to be a waste of my time when you charmed your way into the interrogation room, but you were a lot smarter than I expected and in a way earned my respect. You’re coy when you need to be, and have more street smarts than the lot I was forced to deal with. It’s rare to come across individuals like you, rarer for them to have experience working in a criminal organization.”

  
  


The light above them went out with a pop, a few sparks raining down from the impact. Jesse pulled himself back, closing his eyes and listening to the shocks go off.

  
  


“For heaven’s sake, why did it have to be me,” Jesse said to himself, making sure to weld it under his breath this time to keep it away from the listening ears of Hanzo. The revelation had left him a mess, body and mind working against him as he was caught in a whirlwind of emotions. He became numb to the pins and needles in his legs, signaling that from his thighs and below there was no feeling. When he dipped his head to the side he witnessed the dried blood caking the material of his clothing, the wound beneath an angry colour.

  
  


It was the last thing Jesse saw before hands were grabbing at his hair again, ripping him back with a force he didn’t know anyone was capable of. A sash of cloth was tossed over his eyes and tied at the back, the mere force of it all making him feel like he was going blind. He barked out a cry of surprise and thrashed, legs not cooperating.

  
  


An unruffled bout of Japanese was applied over the madness and answered with the deep tone belonging only to Hanzo. The grip on his shirt was relented slightly, but not enough for Jesse to struggle free. He wasn’t being forced to move anymore, yet he could still feel some of the circulation return to his legs.

  
  


Over Jesse’s laboured gasps for air was the sound of shoes tapping the solid floor beneath them. The sound grew increasingly louder until the scent from before came back full force. More words in Japanese. Jesse strained to listen, hoping against all odds they might say something he could comprehend. 

  
  


A prick near his Adam’s apple answered part of his question, and his natural reaction was to tuck down his chin to protect his throat. A rough hand grabbed at his chin and forced it up. The sharp object, likely a blade, pressed deeper, possibly drawing blood.

  
  


“Don’t make me regret my decision, McCree.” The knife dug in, and Jesse shivered. His head felt dizzy, and if he wasn’t blindfolded he was sure his vision would be distorted and faint. Perhaps his injuries were finally catching up to him.

  
  


Thankfully, the hand and knife were jerked out from under his nose, and his head was swatted away. He bounced back sluggishly from the impact, moaning out in retaliation. 

  
  


“Take him to the parking lot and leave him there. Don’t be seen.” Two grunts from above, and Jesse was suddenly being dragged back again, legs trailing out from behind him. He didn’t have the energy to pull himself up, and only managed to complain when one hand pressed against his shoulder wound.

  
  


The lights brightened from above his blindfold, the room faded from existence, and Jesse was left with a dislocated shoulder, an unloaded gun, and a terrible promise made to a terrible man.   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> My knowledge on both Overwatch and the yakuza are very limited, so forgive me for what was likely terrible story. My friend offered to pay me cold hard cash for this so I didn’t give up the opportunity HAHA.  
> She better cough up those sweet dollar bills, or so help me.


End file.
